USS MULLINNIX DD-944

OLONGAPO CITY PHILLIPINES 1972

Main Drag in "Po City" (Subic Bay)

Subic Bay Naval Base & Olongapo City - Date Unknown

Excerpt from "The Last Gun Ship - History of USS Mullinnix DD-944"
A Historical Novel By Frank A. Wood
The town outside the confines of Subic Bay Naval Station was set up to accommodate sailors driven bat-shit crazy by the 24-hour-a-day 7-day-a-week long line periods off Yankee Station. Once a sailor crossed “Shit River” and entered “Po City”, it was a sailor’s paradise of nasty girls, San Miguel beers, and everything in between.

No paved streets. And the sidewalks? "Sidewalks" were 2 x 10 boards nailed end to end.

The pulsating cherry-red neon signage simply displayed the moniker ‘007 Club’. A non-descript wooden entrance with two machinegun laden human pillars revealed a set of stairs headed upwards towards a sailor’s dream. Reaching the 2nd step muted the street din and bouquet.

“What youw name, numba one killa?”

By the third, the street-world was smashed out of existence with the chest-throbbing beat of rock n’ roll which was second only to the flashing multi-colored flashes of light that floated down the stairwell fog-like thick with cigarette smoke.

By the fifth you were aware of shapes sitting two-to-a-step with a narrow path just wide enough for a single-file of thirsty horny wide-eyed veterans from the gun line.

Most had spiked heels and skintight miniskirt. One had tracks on the inside of her thighs. Her T-shirt had ridden north, and we could see that the carpet matched the drapes. Her mate wore enough jewelry to interfere with radio transmissions.

Brown bottoms the reminded you of two halves of a pear covered in warm dark chocolate. Long black hair, bronze skin, and almond-shaped eyes, that possessed the natural and robust beauty almost like they had Mongolian heritage. Shorts cut so high and so tight, if they’d yawned, they’d have been sucked up their asses.

One had a strawberry birthmark that bled down the back of her neck. She had a wide mouth that looked made of rubber like the mouth of a frog or an inflatable doll. Another was, surprisingly, overweight and frumpy with died piss-blonde hair that looked to have been made by electricity and a sense of humor. She was wearing a two-short top that showed a lot of belly and a silver belly-ring. She had on shorts that showed way too much ass and on the ass was a tattoo of two pigs fucking with the words, “Mak’in Bacon.”

Yet another lacked eyebrows and had gray skin on jutting cheekbones, giving her face a curious, skull-like appearance. She was wearing a little red hat with one of those net veils that reached to the tip of her nose, to be mysterious or to keep the flies out of her eyes, but certainly not for modesty or there would have been netting at her bustline, where her bosoms were rising out of her dress like the morning’s sun. She was walking with her fellow-prostitute that had a pair of dark green platform shoes, the heels of which were high enough to give vertigo to a mountain goat.

The entire posse was over watched by a fortyish dame looking tightly wound enough to spin the hands off a clock, and enough hairpins to pick every lock in Alcatraz.

Most of the girls couldn't pronounce their Rs and Ls. In addition, they mixed up their Fs and Ps. One of them yelled, “Baby I’v take cawe of youw hotdog ip you’v take cawe of my bun (e.g. I’ll take care of your hotdog if you’ll take care of my bun).”

The faint combination of cheap perfume, sweat, and sex escaped from their skin like heat-waves off a black-topped highway in August heat. The next one that came into focus had shoulder length hair the color of West Virginia coal dust and spoke with a Bacall-like husk in her voice with an Asian lilt that sounded like, well, like southern-Asian. “Fsychedevic blowjobs Joe!” she sprayed.

Her companion, had green and orange streaks in her hair. Afro style. Black semi-tank top with bootlace straps. Very dark – ½ Pilipino, ½ African American, added, “Fsychedevic handjobs!”

I turned and smiled at Pete. Pete played aft engine-room to my aft director, 1200-psi steam pipes to my 500-volt wave-guide, and southern juvenile delinquent to my Midwestern better judgment. Despite our differences – the main one being that I thought the law should be obeyed and he thought the law a pain in his ass – we had remained shipmates, party animals, and good friends. Pete looked back at me with that Oklahoma-twinkle in his eyes and deadpanned, “We should stay awhile don’t you think?”

“No shit Sherlock!”

“Hello Sailor!”

She was about 26, dyed blond hair, half Caucasian, thick lips and a wolfish look which she clearly believed to be irresistible. She was wearing a black dress which came an inch or two below her crotch and revealed a lot of cleavage.

By the time we reached the upper landing I had feminine hands on my right wrist, my left shoulder, and my crotch. A thought flashed cross my brain, three-handed girls? Then my ass was grabbed by a fourth and I realized that two hostesses had a hold of me, not one.

An older woman with gray hair and a face only a blind, pride-less mother could love was behind the bar arranging a stack of almost-clean bar glasses. She was ugly enough to turn even powdered milk.

One of hostesses kissed me and damn near sucked the enamel off my teeth. Her breath smelled like a cigarette butt put out in a whiskey glass. A vinegary smell rose from her armpits. Damn, I needed another beer – fast!

Her name was Joei. Must have been a Pilipino inside joke. I tasted the sweat and dust on her lips and discovered, to my amazement, I felt the same thrill as when I was in the thick of a fire mission on the gun line. In Joei’s kiss I felt strength, heat, and danger. My head swam, my pulse quickened, and for a moment, I felt my legs begin to collapse. Then the thrill of danger returned and I rallied myself to meet it. It intoxicated me, and I recognized the attraction. I was embracing Po City as much as Joei.

A waitress wearing a thin blue top cut low across her breasts and a skirt that showed more thigh than it covered – her legs encased in black silk stockings held up by capricious garters, brought us our drinks. Hell, if her skirt were any shorter in would have been a belt.

I blew a perfect smoke ring, paused, and launched a second smaller ring right through the center of the first. I glanced over at Pete. His hostess jumped onto him and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs behind his back. The tight leather of her boots squeaked as they rubbed together. He fingered the dimple in her chin and just looked at her. She crushed that fat lower lip and stared back.

His breath came hard through his nose. The smell of millions of asbestos dust particles caught in a thick slab of light and the sweet smell of her perfume mixed. His head felt hot and light as he ran his nose down through her chest, chewing at the front latch of her bra. She bit down on his ear now, playful and a little harder, and said things in her local language. They sounded nasty.

Sitting, one hand around his waist, the other felt for the buttons on his pants. His eyes shut as he unlatched the front of her bra and put his mouth to her breasts. His had slid down her flank and found a smooth bare leg and slowly moved upward as she sighed. The lace of her panties felt like hospital gauze under his hands.

Meanwhile, Joei sat me down, sat on me, aroused me, then… hand-delivered me to the men’s room, handed me off to a mid-aged woman. She had on pale pink pants and a puke green blouse and a shocking orange linen jacket. Her face sported a network of deep wrinkles that looked like cracked house paint. She’d let her hair go ‘naturally bright red’, and she was wearing earrings, a necklace, and a bracelet all made of coral and seashells, giving her the appearance of a dry aquarium. She was amazingly pasty-faced as though she used whitewash for makeup. Her butt and the back of her legs had so much cellulite that it looked like she’d laid face down in a hail storm.

Her hair was pinned up on her head so it’s kind of shot up dark, then fountained out red every which way in curls at the top – which made her look a little surprised. Her lips reminded you of a valentine, shiny red and plump, but a little lopsided.

She dropped my dress blues to my ankles, skivvies to, then sat me down in a rickety chair. She opened her blouse and made me feel her breasts. They felt like a bag of rocks.

To be continued…

Olongapo City Section Map 12 May 1973 (PDF File)

Shit River - Date Unknown

Magsaysay Street, Olongaop City, 1973
(Looking towards Main Gate of Naval Base)

Main drag - Po City

IC3 John Ekdahl/IC2 Robert
"Bimbo" Clarno check out stereo
equipment at PX (1972)
Do you remember Quadraphonic?

"Po City"

$10 Pitchers of Mojo Juice

Benny Boys

"Ten dolla Joe, Love you looooong time"

Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water"

Many bars had "impersonating bands" that were GREAT!

Valentine Club - Joe Cocker Impersonator!

Old West #1 (or was it #2?) - Johnny Cash and/or Charlie Pride Impersonator! Also, they had a Dolly Parton Impersonator, but because the couldn't pronounced it correctly, they'd introduce her as "Dolly Fartin"

Chicago Transit Authority Impersonators were HUGE!

Olongapo City

The Rocket
Cherry Club
007 Club
DCave
Schell Club
Kong's Restaurant
New Jolo CLub
Da Cherry CLub
Sampaguita CLub

Yellow Submarine Bar (about 30 steps down below street level)

The U&I Club

D'Gave! (Janis Joplin AND Chubby Checker Impersonators!)

Kong's

Mom's Tacos on Razel Ave (take a right at end of Magsaysay)

The Shamrock

Papagayo's Restaurant

Emaculate Conception Drugstore at end of main drag

The Sierra Supper Club

Acme Club ("Chicago" Music)

Jittney

Bridge to "Po City"

The Philipinos had trouble pronouncing their "F's" and "P's". Case in point: "Welcome to the Old West #1 or #2... now here's some of Miss Dolly Fartin..."

Zanzibar - Olongapo City
Lead singer "Lettie". She could rock it to Janis Joplin but couldn't pronouce here r's and l's. Hence, she sang, "wowing down the wivuh"

"Shit" River

Olongapo had a lot of entertainment that wasn't to be had in anyother liberty port. Case in point was the "Dance of the Flaming Asshole". A drunk sailor (usually stripped down to their skivvies) would put about 10' of toilet paper in the waist band and light it up! Then run around the bar to much yelling and great advice for other sailors. LOL!

Magsaysay Blvd, Olongapo City 1971

Olongapo City 1973
(After massive cleanup & paving of Magsaysay Drive during Marcos dictatorship)
Do you see your favorite club?

Butterfly Knife

Butterfly Knife - a short course...

This is what a PI girl could do with a butterfly knife - Watch the video!
Butterfly Knife in action
"Me no butterfly, Missy!!!"

"Throw me Peso, Joe..."

Magsaysay, Olongopo City, Phillipines

Bridge Into Town / Across Shit River (NOT Mullinnix Sailors...)

DeCave, Po City, 1972
Janis Joplin sound alike! WOW!! Close your eyes and your were at a Joplin concert!!!
Upstairs? Chubby Checker sound alike!

Mullinnix Moves to Buoy #19 to Ride Out Typhoon Ora

Mullinnix Survives Typhoon Ora, Moves to Pier 16

Goodbye Subic! Got to get back to the war...

A 'paved' Magsaysay Drive (1980)

The Bridge to Sailor's Disneyland!

Other Clubs:
New Jolo Club - a favorite of Birdman and Jewels!
Jupiter Club (across the street from Muff Divers)

Olongapo in the Late 70s

Muff Divers

Monkey Meat (1973)

"Po City", Early 1980s

Go to "Quang Tri City Regained"

Back to "Hue"
Back to "16 May - First Day On Gunline"
Back to "1972 Major Battles"
Back to "1972 Vietnam Gunline - Page 1"
Back to Liberty Call
Back to Ship Company
Home

© 2008 by Frank Wood, All rights reserved